


Against All Odds

by Potrix



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: #lovewins, 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boys In Love, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Equality, Marriage Proposal, Mild Sexual Content, Same-Sex Marriage, Schmoop, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:51:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4222380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Bucky and Steve pretend, and the one time they don’t have to anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Against All Odds

**Author's Note:**

> Congratulations, America! So happy for and proud of you! ＼(＾O＾)／
> 
> Now come on, Switzerland, we can do it, too! #LoveWins

**1926, Age 8**

“‘M not gonna do it, Buck,” Steve grouses, chin lifted in pure, unchallengeable Steven Grant Rogers stubbornness. “‘M not a girl.” 

Bucky just shrugs, completely unconcerned, and tugs the piece of fabric out of Steve’s hands. “Fine, I’ll be the girl, then,” he declares and arranges the tablecloth on his head so it’s falling back over his shoulders, dragging behind him on the floor almost like the veil he’s seen in his parents’ wedding pictures. 

Over on the couch, Rebecca starts giggling. “You look stupid.”

“Not as stupid as your face,” Bucky shoots back at his twin, answering in kind when Becca pokes her tongue out at him. 

“I think he looks beautiful,” Charlotte pipes up, glaring at her sister. 

Becca rolls her eyes in that way she always does whenever she’s convinced the seventeen months she has on Charlie automatically mean she knows better, but doesn’t say anything else. 

Bucky levels her with a smug, victorious grin, then turns to look back at Charlie with a soft, “Thank you.”

“Nellie, no,” Steve tisks, guiding the youngest Barnes’ rice-filled fist away from her mouth. “It’s for throwing, not eating.”

Nellie pouts but sits back, Charlie quickly scrambling up onto the couch between her and Becca, bouncing excitedly. 

Steve takes a deep, steadying breath, then steps closer and takes the hands Bucky’s holding out to him, linking their fingers together. “What now?” 

“Now,” Bucky explains, beaming, “you gotta say why you wanna marry me, and I gotta say why I wanna marry you. And then we kiss.” 

Steve nods, very seriously. “I wanna marry you ‘cause you’re my best friend and everything’s better when we’re doin’ it together.”

“I wanna marry you ‘cause you’re my best friend, too,” Bucky starts, squeezing Steve’s fingers, “and ‘cause you can draw real good and ‘cause you’re pretty.”

Steve blushes at that, caught somewhere between flattered and flustered, and Bucky’s so distracted by the freckles standing out clearly now against the bright red of his cheeks that he forgets about the next part until Becca shouts, “Kiss him, Bucky!”

And Bucky does. He leans in slowly, keeping his eyes open until the last moment, then lets them flutter shut and presses his mouth against Steve’s, their noses and foreheads bumping together. Steve snorts and begins to snicker, and behind them the girls cheer and Nellie drops the rice into her lap and-

“What in Heaven’s name are you all yelling about?” comes Winifred’s voice from the kitchen and, a moment later, a disapproving, “And why is there rice all over the floor? James? Rebecca?”

Becca is out of her seat like shot, squealing as she runs for the backdoor with a screeching Charlie hot on her heels. Steve’s eyes grow wide and Bucky swallows back the curse he knows would only get him into more trouble, dropping Steve’s hands so he can scoop Nellie up from the couch and settle her on his hip. 

“C’mon, c’mon,” he urges, wriggling his fingers at Steve until Steve takes his hand again, practically dragging the other boy out into the yard and after his sisters. 

He can hear Becca and Charlie laughing from somewhere behind the bins, Nellie not understanding what’s going on but doing the same nonetheless, and Steve is flushed but smiling, hair flopping into his face and one of his suspenders sliding down his narrow shoulder, looking absolutely perfect.

“What-” Steve frowns when Bucky stops suddenly, making a surprised little noise when Bucky kisses him again before he starts running once more, heart beating wildly, happily. 

*

**1931, Age 13**

“I leave you alone for five minutes,” Bucky sighs, long-suffering. “Five minutes, Stevie! Unbelievable!” 

Steve continues to scowl at him, the effect somewhat ruined by the blood dripping down his chin and the bruise already darkening around his eye. “I had ‘em on the ropes,” he insists, defiant as ever. 

“Shut your gob an’ sit down,” Bucky barks, slamming the door behind them and pushing the still resisting Steve into one of the kitchen chairs. “Five minutes!” 

“I coulda handled it,” Steve keeps insisting, aiming a kick at Bucky’s shin when Bucky moves in close with a wet cloth to start cleaning the cut in his lip. “You didn’t have to charge in there like some would-be hero. I may not be the biggest or strongest guy around, but I don’t need you savin’ me like I’m some damsel in distress or-” 

“Did you ever think,” Bucky interrupts angrily, his voice a stark contrast to the gentleness of his hands as he tilts Steve’s head back, “that not everything’s always about you? That maybe, just maybe, I don’t like seein’ you get hurt? That it’s not about how big or strong you are, but about me carin’ about you and lovin’ you and wanting you to be careful for one goddamned time in your life, you stupid, reckless punk!”

Bucky’s outburst is followed by silence, but Steve’s whole demeanor changes, shoulders sagging and expression losing some of its hard edge. Hooking his foot around Bucky’s ankle, he murmurs, “They were pickin’ on Hugo, Buck, just ‘cause his skin’s darker than ours. It’s not right.” 

And that’s all the apology Bucky’s ever going to get, and he knows it. “Nah, it’s not right,” he agrees, allowing Steve to wind his arms around him and bury his face in Bucky’s stomach. Scratching a hand through his messy hair, Bucky says, “Still doesn’t mean you gotta go and get yourself killed.”

Steve sniffles and Bucky’s about ninety-nine percent sure he’s faking, but he can’t help himself, never can when it comes to Steve, curling his own arms around Steve and holding him close, cheek resting against the top of Steve’s head.

“Regret marryin’ me yet?” Steve ask, teasing only not really, the words muffled against Bucky’s belly, his fingers tightening their hold on Bucky’s shirt. 

Pulling back just enough that he can crouch down and brush a kiss over the corner of Steve’s mouth, Bucky promises, “Never. Not in a million, billion years.”

“Good.” Steve nods decisively, rubbing their cheeks together. 

“That was still a fuckin’ stupid thing you did,” Bucky reminds him, laughing when Steve growls and tackles him to the floor.

*

**1935, Age 17**

“Some- somewhere warm,” Steve stutters, burrowing closer against Bucky’s side, freezing fingers sneaking under Bucky’s shirt and splaying across his back. “With lotsa sun. No snow.” 

Bucky hums his agreement, mouth pressed against Steve’s fever-hot forehead. “Gonna take the train and head West until there’s only sand as far as the eye can reach.” 

“Maybe go- go-” Steve tries, teeth clattering too much for him to go on for a moment. Through a wheeze, he eventually manages, “The Grand Canyon, Buck. Wanna see that.” 

“Anything,” Bucky vows, stroking the sweat-soaked hair out of Steve’s eyes. “Everything for you, Stevie. Gonna give you the best damn honeymoon anyone’s ever had.” 

Steve tucks his face into Bucky’s neck, smiling. “‘Course you will.”

“I love you,” Bucky whispers, kissing Steve’s temple and throwing a leg over his hip, feeling Steve tremble and shake against him, pleading with a God he’s not sure is listening or even cares that he’ll get to say it again, that it’s not the last time. “I love you so much.” 

“Sap,” Steve accuses mildly, then starts coughing again. 

Bucky prays harder. 

*

**1940, Age 22**

“Buck, c’mon,” Steve groans, heels digging into Bucky’s back while Bucky mouths at the crease where thigh meets groin, just shy of where Steve really wants him. “Stop teasin’ me.” 

Ignoring the petulant whining, Bucky keeps doing what he’s doing, peppering kisses over Steve’s belly and around the base of his cock, dipping his tongue into his navel and nipping at the sharp jut of his hipbone. 

“Jerk,” Steve grumbles and shifts so the head of his dick is bumping against Bucky’s chin, grunting in frustration when Bucky grabs his sides and pins him back down to the bed. “Buck!”

“Patience, Stevie,” Bucky chides, chuckling when that earns him a sharp tug of his hair. He bites the insides of Steve’s thigh, grinning at Steve’s hiss of pleasure. “Gotta be patient, baby.” 

“Bucky,” Steve pants and then, voice turning mischievous, whispers, “Husband. Husband, please.”

It’s Bucky who moans at that, head snapping up to see the satisfied quirk of Steve’s lips and his adorably scrunched up nose, the challengingly arched eyebrow. 

“No fair,” he complains but obediently wraps his lips around Steve, smirking as much as is possible with his mouth full when Steve goes boneless with a contented little sigh.

*

**1943, Age 25**

“What are you trying to say?” Steve asks, grabbing Bucky’s wrist to keep him from storming out of the tent. “Buck, what’s going on?” 

Blinking against the embarrassing sting of tears, Bucky turns back around, jaw set and arms crossed over his chest, physically distancing himself. “What I’m sayin’ is that I’m lettin’ you go. That I’m givin’ you a chance to be happy.” 

The genuinely confused expression on Steve’s face, his wet eyes and trembling lower lip are heartbreaking, and Bucky has to look away or else he’s not going to be able to do this. 

“I don’t understand,” Steve says, voice trembling and tone desperate. “Why are you- have I- did I do somethin’, Bucky? Is it because of the- the-” he gestures at himself awkwardly, at his new, unfamiliar body, “because I look different now?”

Swallowing hard around the uncomfortable, almost painful lump in his throat, Bucky shakes his head. “You know me better than that, Steve.”

“Then why?” Steve explodes, smacking Bucky’s hands away when Bucky reaches out to shush him, the other Commandos only a few feet away by the fire. “Why are you doing this? After everything we’ve been through? Why are you-”

“Because I see the way she looks at you!” Bucky snaps, one of the sobs he’s trying so hard to bite back escaping despite his best efforts. “And I hear the way you talk about her, Stevie, I hear you. You- you deserve everything, all the things I can’t give you, won’t ever be able to give you. And Peggy, she’s a hell of a girl, and you like her, don’t pretend otherwise, I know you-”

“I like her,” Steve chokes out, rubbing a hand over his eyes, “but I love _you_.”

“You could fall for her, though,” Bucky insists, determined. “You could love her and you could have a family with her, Steve. A real family.” 

“You’re my family!” Steve yells, openly crying now. “You’re the boy I married when I was seven years old and if you believe, even for just a single second, that I won’t honor that promise until the day I die, through better and worse, no matter what, then _you_ don’t know me. At all.” 

“Screw you,” Bucky shouts back, even as they’re falling into each other, clutching at each other, lips meeting hungrily, reassuringly. “Idiot. Idiot.” 

“I love you,” Steve breathes, hands hot on either side of Bucky’s face. “I love you, I love you, I love you-”

Bucky kisses him again, wet and salty. “Idiot.”

*

**June 26th 2015**

Another couple steps out of the courthouse, clasped hands raised high and beaming brightly at the collective cheers of the gathered crowd. 

It doesn’t seem to matter that same-sex marriage has been legal in New York for going on four years now, people are celebrating all across the country today, and rightly so. 

Smiling, Steve turns back to the interviewer. The Avengers, despite the media shitstorm, as Tony had gleefully called it, their appearance has caused, have been in the midst of the celebration right from the beginning. Tony had organised it, a small stage next to the courthouse with a couple of couches filled with local celebrities to discuss and rejoice in the monumental leap the United States have taken this day.

“So, Captain Rogers,” the interviewer addresses Steve again, “I hear there is someone here who would like to ask you a very important question.”

Surprised, Steve glances over at Tony sitting next to him, eyes narrowing at the knowing, giddy look on his face. “What did you do?” Steve hisses quietly. 

“Oh,” Tony grins, waggling his eyebrows, “you’re going to like this, Steve, trust me. You!” he calls, pointing at a group of people closest to the barrier surrounding the stage. “You know what to do, chop chop!” 

Steve watches, a little nervous, as the people shuffle around and part to make way for-

_Bucky._

Bucky’s standing there, smiling that lopsided smile of his that’s been making an appearance more and more often over the last couple of months, bottom lip caught between his teeth and fingers, both flesh and metal, curled around the signs he’s holding up over his head. 

And there, scribbled in Bucky’s unmistakable chicken scratch, it’s written black on, well, rainbow; _‘Marry me. Punk.’_

Steve is moving before he knows it, jumping down from the stage and closing the distance between them in four long strides, Bucky’s grinning mouth meeting him halfway for a kiss Steve’s dimly aware, somewhere in the back of his mind, will make him blush when he's goingt to see it the paper tomorrow. 

“Is that a yes?” Bucky laughs, fond and full of joy, tipping his forehead against Steve’s and curling his hand over the back of his neck to keep him there.

“You didn’t actually ask,” Steve points out, waving a hand at the sign, lashes heavy with ready-to-fall tears and heart full to bursting point. “Looks more like an order to me.”

“Smartass,” Bucky snorts, gently nudging their noses together. “Gonna follow that order, Captain?”

Steve hums, as if he has to think about it. “You know, technically I still outrank you-”

_“Steve!”_

“Yes,” Steve grins, “yes, of course. Still not wearing the veil, though.” 

“Whatever you want, Stevie,” Bucky promises, kissing him again. “Anything. Everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> Go check out my other [work](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/works) or come over and say hi on [tumblr](http://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Also, thank you to [be_mine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/be_mine/pseuds/be_mine) who sent me this amazing picture:
> 
> Let's all pretend that's Bucky wearing his _'Oh, shit!'_ face on the right, dragging a laughing Steve along.


End file.
